Others
by Bleeding Jazz Gums
Summary: The Other Fathers' and Other Wybies' thoughts on defying Mother, and their rewards for their troubles.
1. Chapter 1

When they're first born(created, molded, call it what you will)they are told one thing, and one thing only.

_Be happy for Mother._

They are taught the happiest, most convincing smiles are the ones that happen when you don't look the other in the eye(which is a lot harder than one would expect, considering their eyes are of buttons).

They are taught that they are here only to serve Mother.

Never displease Mother.

If Mother is displeased, you will be disposed of.

They don't know what it means to die, since they never really lived in the first place. They are puppets. They are dolls, brought out only for deceit and slander. But they know what it is not to exist. Darkness, an ever open void that swallows them whole and squeezes, squeezes them until they can't remember anything and eventually they just.. Cease. To remember, to breathe, to exist.

They really try to please Mother, but Mother is ever doomed to be displeased.

Other Father is told to be all smiles and all fun and everything her real father isn't. _You are not her protector, you are not her father. You are her friend only. You do not look after her. You look after what entertains her._

Secretly, in the deepest, squashiest part of his being that he keeps hidden, _locked away she must never see she will be so angry_, he does not like being called the Other Father. Mother says he is called this because he's better than her real father, the one who ignores her and does not play with her and makes her disgustingly healthy meals and cares more for her well being than what entertains her.

In that squashiest part of him he would never dare reveal, he understands why the real father does these things. He thinks he does, at least. When these guilty thoughts arise, he tries to comfort himself with the fact that in a way, he is also looking after her. He is just looking after the more shallow, selfish needs this young girl has. He's never very comforted.

He knows that eventually, one way or another, Mother will have her way. There's no denying her. The idea is laughable. There's no negotiation, no compromise, nothing. Mother takes it all, and she does not give it back. No matter how it is spun, this is Mothers world, after all.

But that squashy part began to grow. It grew and it grew, becoming so large he couldn't even stop himself when she came back.

"_All will be well, soon as Mother's refreshed. Her strength is our strength..._"

His mind(what was left of it, as Mother was getting very impatient with the game, and so barely had time to keep him from unraveling as, inevitably, the rest of her woven world unraveled)was crumbling away quickly, falling away and disappearing. He knew his fate was coming. He knew what was going to happen.

Still, even he just kept his _mouth _shut, just for a little while, he could be spared for a few extra moments...

"_Mustn't... Talk when Mother's not here._"

Something else is said, but he's drifting away now, drifting far away because he's crumbling in on himself. He's self-destructing from the inside out, and he's tired, he's so, so tired, and he just wants to lay down and just let what is going to come come already and just take him.

Something niggles at him, and in a vague, quickly drying up corner of his mind, he thinks he has worms. But no, it's a thought, so painful and so against everything he has ever known since he was plucked from the garden and woven into a man resembling a father.

_Must protect child._

He is standing so still, the silence threatens to suffocate him. He is so sure to his very_ roots _that Mother has heard this stray thought, has heard his guilt, and is coming to end him now.

But there is just silence, and his fear drains.

And he realizes, with no little shock to his already drained system, that it is not fear for _his _measely existance... It is fear for the child.

He wants to laugh, except he's not happy at all and he's sort of sad and a little confused and while Mother taught him that laughter is not always(almost never, in fact)happy, he doesn't think it's suppose to feel like this.

"_Sorry._"

In the garden.

"_So sorry._"

Short cropped blue hair, orange pajamas, terrified expression with defiance and determination hiding in her eyes.

"_Mother... Making... me..._"

She was. He could feel her, inside of him, watching through his button-eyes and faint laughter(horrible and happy for all the wrong reasons)ringing in his crumbling mind.

He couldn't win. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't even protect himself, let alone a slip of a girl.

He couldn't protect her.

...But he could give her the means of protecting herself.

"_Don't wanna hurt you!_"

He was slowing down. Everything was going so fast, happening at the speed of light, and he was beginning to stand still.

If he was going to die(fade away, vanish, cease to have existed in this plane or any other...)he was going to die with the defiance this little girl had in spades.

"_Take it!_"

His lips quirked in one last smile, bitter and sad but _real_, as he vanished beneath the waters surface.

Mothers shriek of fury rang in his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Great. Another Wybie._"

If he had eyes, he would have rolled them. As it was, he only smiled.

"_Hello, Why-Were-You-Born._"

Obviously self-centered, fixated only on her own wants and desires. A child in way over her little blue head. She saw only the surface, unbothered to see anything below it. So easily fooled by trinkets and games and shallow items, so quick to believe sweet lies.

No wonder Mother was so fond of this one.

"_Hello!_"

"_I thought you'd like him more if he spoke a little less. So I fixed him._"

Fixed. Everything from that plane to this was fixed. Better. Perfect. Without flaw. Mother did not tolerate imperfection, and yet she could not keep her eyes(if she had any, as it were) on her more advanced creations.

Oh, snapping snapdragons and grasshopper machines. Spying rats and vampire dogs. All so easy to create, so easy to control with an almost absent thought. It was much harder to keep self-aware beings on a leash. She could not catch every stray thought, could not control every movement every moment of the day... It was much easier if she had fewer beings to create and handle.

Maybe it was because Mother was so fond of this one that he felt her strength diminishing much faster than with any child before. Maybe she did care about the child-although he had no doubt that she cared about the children from before. She cared about each and every one of them, for a time, in her twisted, controlling way. She wanted something to love her, endlessly. But she just got so _bored_...

"_So he can't talk at all?_"

"_Nope._"

"_Hmm. I like it._"

He wants to sneer. Or maybe scoff. The child was so simple-minded, so absorbed in her own world, he was surprised she could acknowledge anything past her own nose. And it wasn't even her own world she was in! If it was, the foolish girl wouldn't be in this situation!

"_You're awful cheerful considering you can't say anything._"

Yeah, he was ray of sunshine.

"_It didn't hurt, did it, when she..._"

...Hm.

How curious was that?

Honestly, even he hadn't given a second thought to it... It was simply what Mother wanted. He might have been a bit more daring and defiant than good ol' original Wybie, but he was still Mothers creation. He still lived under her rules, her guidelines. Her word was still law. While he wasn't exactly bouncing for joy at his lack of voice, it wasn't entirely bad. Mother was under the impression that without a voice, he was without an internal opinion as well. That he simply did what was expected of him. That if he lacked a way to communicate, he lacked a will to defy.

The creature was so confident in her abilities, she barely questioned it. It was her overconfidence that gave Other Wybie his strength.

He _could _defy Mother.

He _could _displease Mother.

He _could _be his own person.

And she would never see it coming.

He was a pitiful creation, made from the image of a true soul and internally molded to become 'better' than his living-creature counterpart. There was no way, in this existance or in any other, that he would be able to destroy Mother with sheer strength or will alone. He would have to resort to a surprise attack; crippling her from behind with a blow so devastating she would be weak for a long time afterwards.

He simply lacked the _How? _to his surprise attack. How was he to surprise Mother? How was he to find the right means for such an attack? How was he to find the _right time_ to launch such an attack? There was no possible way he could take her down by himself alone. He was nothing. He barely existed.

"_It's wonderful, Wybie!_"

Mice, jumping and creating such a lovely illusion he saw through with such ease he felt sick. The girl was next to him, enchanted by the lies.

There was something there, something barely there but strong enough he could feel it welling up in his chest.

"_Do svedaniya, Coraline._"

Mother. _Smile, Other Wybie. Smile. Or else._

Something in his slumped, crumbled, blew away. The foolish girl was going to get herself killed. Or worse.

Gone, now. To the whitest edge of the world Mother did not bother to fill. Followed by the one thing Mother detested most, and could not control.

"_You appear to have had a good time._" The pest commented.

This time he did sneer.

"_...You know,_" It began, sitting down and beginning to clean one paw. "_She's not as blind as she appears. Simply lonely._"

The feeling was welling up again, clawing the back of his throat and knocking against his teeth before sliding back down to get caught just in his chest.

What did the beast know?

_She's going to die, _he thought. _She's going to die, all because she believes this to be her dream come true._

It cocked its head.

"_I'll be sure to tell her so_." The beast trotted off.

Everything goes by in a rush. The theater. Coraline. The rose. Watching her, balancing atop the witches as she clutches his flower in her hand and smiles so bright and so huge, he's blinded, and it's not the stage lights...

"_You may come out when you've learned to be a loving daughter._"

Her eyes are open.

Her eyes are open and she's finally seeing, finally seeing Mother for what she is. Seeing the world for what it is; a lie.

He does not find himself satisfied or even mildly, horribly amused as he thought he would be, no matter what expression Mother has sewed to his face.

He's just sad.

And then he realizes the _How _to his surprise attack. Now he is resigned.

Resigned but determined.

He was not expecting her to be as strong as a bloody mule, though.

"_...Wybie?_"

He admits it. He cowered.

"_Did she do this to you?_"

He'd like to say something sarcastic. At the very least, he'd like to at least be able to think something sarcastic.

But he can't feel his cheeks, even as he's rubbing them(he's got so little time now, Mother knows, _knows knows knows, he has to act quickly_)and she's looking at him with such concern...

"_Coraline? Is that you?_"

And he realizes the time to act is now.

"_Come on! She'll hurt you again!_"

He wants to tell her there's no point, he can't feel anything. He wants to shake her until she finally has some sense to run. Instead, he pulls off his glove and lets her watch his hand fall apart.

_Leave, _he wants to say. _Leave, leave now. This will be you. All will be pointless if you die. _

"_How dare you disobey your mother!_"

No more time.

His body moves before he realizes what he's doing, and then she's gone.

She'll be his strength. The attack is over; the surprise is out in the open. And Mother will soon find him, and he will be lost.

But not forgotten.

He sighs.


End file.
